


this bond between us, can't be broken

by hoppnhorn



Series: loin cloth? good lord. [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tarzan Billy Hargrove, tarzan au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 03:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21206558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoppnhorn/pseuds/hoppnhorn
Summary: Even deep in the jungle, prejudice manages threaten Steven and Billy's happiness.





	this bond between us, can't be broken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [myriophyllous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriophyllous/gifts).

> Slowly but surely, here we are, folks. 
> 
> This was supposed to be a 3.5K tarzan au piece for the wonderful [@myriophyllous](https://myriophyllous.tumblr.com/) and it somehow managed to wind up well over that. (This is why it takes forever for me to do anything.)
> 
> if you haven't read the other [tarzan au pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124040/chapters/50268191), you _might_ want to. They lend a little context to some of the vibe. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!!

It’s become a game at some point. A quiet, in acknowledged game. 

At first, Steven would miss Billy drifting into his presence -- whether from above or the shadows. He’d miss the subtle signs that he no longer was alone and when Billy would inhale silently and purse his lips, Steven would be defenseless to a piercing elephant call in his ear. Or jaguar roar.

Billy’s ability to mimic wildlife is  _ uncanny _ . 

Now,  _ now _ he’s learned. He feels the air warm when Billy is close, his body heat radiating in the space between them. He can smell Billy’s hair, crisp from running water and his skin, fresh but salty from sweat. 

He can  _ sense _ him now, like a hum in the air.

“Don’t even think about it.” Steven mutters one morning, still groggy from sleep, as he waits for his kettle to heat over the fire. 

And Billy simply chuckles under his breath. 

Then Steven sighs into a warm embrace, forgetting himself in the middle of the camp as Billy hugs him around the chest, presses his nose into his neck. 

“Learning.” Billy says with a smile that Steven can feel on his skin.

“Hmm.” He grunts in agreement. “Adapting to survive your  _ nonsense  _ more like.” Billy’s arms coil tighter until Steven can feel his heartbeat through his shirt.

He’d stay that way forever if he were allowed. 

“Do you want some tea?” Steven asks softly, barely a murmur, and someone clears their throat in the distance. 

Billy’s embrace vanishes in a moment as Steven locks eyes with his father. 

“Steven.” John Harrington says curtly, walking from the woods to his tent. His voice sounds even, steady, but his eyes blaze with something less kind. 

“Morning, father.” Steven tries to smile but he knows it doesn’t quite work. He can still feel Billy draped against his back, so much  _ closer _ than he should have been out in the open. “Would you care for tea?”

“No, thank you. I’d like a word, son.” John says, ducking into his tent without a word more. 

And Steven can’t meet Billy’s gaze as he follows.

  
  


In the privacy of his father’s tent, Steven is left in silence as his father lathers up fancy soap from a tin, whirls a brush in the foam until he can smooth it over his face. He’s watched his father shave a hundred times, but he never with such tension in the air.

When his father lifts the blade to his face, John makes eye contact in the mirror. 

“It’s unnatural, your attachment to him.” His father says, his jaw barely moving as he glides his razor along, the metal shining in the lantern light. 

“He’s my friend—“

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” John cuts him off mid-sentence. When he finishes his stroke, he turns his head, uses the opportunity to glare into Steven’s eyes. “I’ve seen the way you smile at him. The way he  _ touches _ you.  _ Familiar _ .” He hisses. “It’s disgusting and it will  _ end _ immediately. Am I understood?” 

“Father—“

“You are a  _ Harrington _ . You have a lineage that is as old as the Queen’s and you will  _ not _ disgrace me with this.” With a hard throw, his father tosses his razor into the basin of water. Bracing his weight on his hands, John stares at his reflection, eyes hard and as cold as ice. “All it takes is one rumor, one filthy word from the crew and you’re  _ ruined _ .” 

“I’ve done  _ nothing _ , Father.” Steven insists, though his heart is pounding in his chest, shame betraying him with scarlet cheeks. “Billy is an incredible discovery of science and he’s longed for human  _ connection _ for so long. He’s very affectionate and that is  _ all _ .”

“You will both learn to behave yourselves.” His father spits, rubbing a damp cloth over the flats of his face. Across his chin. In many ways, Steven sees himself in his father’s face. His large nose, his pronounced upper lip. He hates his father and yet he is bound to him by blood. “Or I will leave that boy on this island and you will never see him again.” 

Steven feels his head swim when his heartbeat reaches his ears, chest going hot, breath rapid. 

“Of course, Father.” He placates softly. The urge to cry is bitter at the back of his throat, pinching in his nose, and he focuses on the back of his father’s head. The way he’s starting to go grey at his temples and neck. In London, his father had his hair colored, despite his age making it well beyond  _ time _ for him to be sporting grey. Here, his father looks rougher. Meaner. Like the softness has been bleed from him by long, hot days and cold, restless nights. 

Steven holds John Harrington’s stare as he wipes his face clean and replaces his shirt. He even helps smooth it into place across wide shoulders as his father fastens the buttons. 

“When we arrive back in England, you will marry the Wheeler girl and you will take your place in society. You will father children and continue our work and you will  _ forget _ about your little jungle pet.” 

“Surely I would be able to help acclimate him to the modern world!” Steven exclaims in shock. “I taught him how to speak!” 

“He will be acclimated to the modern world, yes.” His father sneers at him, turning around, eyes dark with cruelty. “He will see city after city and meet thousands of people.”

Steven bites on his molars to keep from raising his voice. “As a sideshow act.” He concludes and his father smirks. 

“Indeed. The missing link, the ape man.” John jokes, a hand in the air. “Meet the man who thinks he’s a gorilla.” 

“He doesn’t  _ think _ he’s a gorilla.” Steven seethes. “He is  _ intelligent _ and capable of learning so much and has expressed a vast understanding of human emotion despite being raised by mammals outside his  _ species _ .”

“He is a circus freak.” John retorts, suddenly bored. “He will make us money for a few years while earning a small wage, and then he will be free to do as he pleases.” 

“Except go home, right?” Steven says. “You would drag him into the modern world and leave him stranded there.”

“The modern world is where he belongs.” John says pointedly, pressing a finger into Steven’s sternum until he can feel it sting. “As do you, and I, and every other human on this earth.” 

  
  


Steven hides in his tent until dinner, when the crackle of fire and the smell of smoking meat makes his stomach hurt and he can no longer pretend he doesn’t  _ exist _ . He slinks out into the dark, expecting to be met by his father; but instead he finds a few of his father’s hired men, sitting around the warmth and drinking to pass the time. 

He’s relieved until he sees Billy sitting among them, watching their mannerisms and mimicking with convincing accuracy. 

For a moment, Steven forgets his father’s cruel words and smiles absently at the endearing image of Billy propping his head in a hand, watching another man as he does the same. 

However, when Billy sees Steven standing across the way, he lights up and shoots from the table in a move so quick and graceful half the men let out gasps of shock while the rest clamor about. Tipping over cups, dropping food. 

Steven can only cough to hide his amusement as Billy eats up the distance between them. 

“Steven.” He announces, his usual greeting, and Steven nods. 

“Good evening, Billy.” With a casual sidestep, he makes for the food by the fire. 

“Where are you?” Billy asks, right on his tail, and Steven fills his plate while correcting him with a murmured  _ past tense  _ \-- winces when Billy smiles. Coy. Like he’s playing a game, like he knew the answer the whole time. “Where  _ were _ you?” Billy repeats.

“I wasn’t feeling well.” Steven lies, easily enough. He wasn’t well, in truth. He’d been barely capable of standing when he’d returned to his tent. It took every ounce of his many years of finishing school to keep from throwing a toddler’s tantrum. Throwing books and shredding paper. Crying until his lungs hurt.

He’d done it all in his head, sitting silent on his bed until the sun had vanished and a chill had taken its place. 

“Are you unwell?” Billy asks, his pronunciation smooth and practiced. No longer teasing or playful. Concern is embedded deep in his features when Steven turns to face him. 

Facing him, it turns out, was a poor decision altogether. 

Billy looks perfect in the firelight, just as he always does. Sun-kissed and strikingly handsome, he frowns and Steven’s heart aches to take Billy into his arms. 

“Yes.” He forces himself to say, wheezing through his lips. “My apologies. I’m going to turn in for the night.” He adds, loud enough that men would hear, if any of them were paying attention. 

None of them are, so he starts for his tent. 

Billy, of course, is right in step. 

“Steven.” 

“I’m sorry, Billy.” He says softer, under his breath. “I need some rest.” 

But his lover isn’t so easily convinced. The moment Steven escapes to his tent, Billy punches through the flap at equal speed, tying it tight behind him as if to say he is  _ not _ leaving. 

“What is wrong?” Billy asks, bluntly. Stiff. The way John would ask, if he were to ask such a thing. To the point, but with  _ irritation _ . “Why are you acting—?” As he steps forward to cup Steven’s face, Steven lurches away. 

“Nothing is wrong with me.” He says, callously, while Billy simply blinks at his outstretched hand.

“Why are you avoiding me?” He asks. And something inside of Steven is so  _ proud _ of his inquiry. The words, the  _ comprehension _ . Billy is a marvel and he wants to burst into tears at the ruination of it all. 

“I’m not avoiding—“

“Why can I not touch you?” Billy asks, this time stepping in again. His hand hovers near Steven’s face, a breath away from cupping his cheek. But he turns his head away and adds more room between them. 

“Because that is a gesture reserved for intimacy.” He says matter-of-factly. “And you and I can no longer be intimate.” 

“Intimate.” Billy repeats. Steven can see the confusion, the  _ frustration _ , and he’s horrified when Billy’s eyes begin to shine. “Intimacy is for people who care about each other.” He repeats Steven’s definition back to him. “I care about you.”

“Intimacy between two men is inappropriate.” Steven tries to be succinct but his voice falters. Wobbles between a sob and a wheeze. “I was wrong to allow it for as long as I have.”

“Steven—“ Billy reaches for him and he tucks away, his heart breaking in his chest. 

“I’d like for you to leave.” He says, to the wall of his tent rather than Billy’s face. Because he knows that saying such things to Billy’s face would ruin the lie. He would rather die than watch Billy experience rejection. Pain. 

“Steven.” His lover whispers. 

“Leave!” He repeats as tears fall from his eyes, wet his cheeks. His nails bite into the palms of his hands as he clenches them closed, willing himself to remain steady. But the sobs will take him, he can feel the tightness in his chest. He can feel how they will tear through him, make him suffer. 

Standing in his tent, he waits for Billy to yell. To throw something or snarl words of anger in his direction. He waits for the rage. 

Instead, only silence. 

When Steven dares to turn his head, the flap of the tent is untied. 

And Billy is gone. 

  
  


For three days, he doesn’t return to camp. 

When Steven’s father notes the absence, he glares but says nothing. 

  
  


After five days, Steven can’t sleep. Can’t eat, barely drinks. The men murmur under their breath that the wild man was eaten by a lion and Steven wants to cave their heads in. Shout that  _ lions don’t live in the jungle _ . But if they did, Billy would be able to defend himself. He’d survived from infancy to adulthood in the jungle, Steven wants to scream at them. He’s braver than any man in England. 

But he never says anything.

He simply waits, watching the trees until the sun is long gone. 

  
  


Billy is gone a week when Steven wakes to find the men packing up their belongings. His father is barking orders and their things are being shoved into crates. In the distance, down the winding river, Steven sees the ship in the bay and his stomach sinks to his toes. 

The ship is  _ there _ .

“Steven, good. You’re awake.” His father says from across the camp. “Pack your things, the ship leaves at nightfall.” 

“What about Billy?” Steven asks, his hands shaking as he scans the trees. “He hasn’t come back—“

“Then we leave without him.” John says with a wave of his hand. “The ape man isn’t going to keep me on this island a day longer than needed.” 

“But you told me—“ Steven snarls, his anger hot in his belly. But his father’s jaw flexes as he crosses the camp, turns Steven away from prying eyes and listening ears. 

“I told you that you would forget about your little jungle pet, and I don’t really care if he’s here or in England when you  _ forget him _ .” John hisses. “If he isn’t on the ship by nightfall, he isn’t going to England.”

“We can’t—“ His father’s hand whips across Steven’s face with such speed, he’s more shocked than pained when he holds his cheek, feels the heat bloom under the skin. The men notice the slap, a few of them lingering to get a look. But John keeps his voice low. 

“Pack. your. things.” He says. “Or I’ll tie you up and dump you in a row boat myself.”

  
  


Steven always thought his largest pack was ridiculous. It was more a saddlebag than a backpack, too large to truly tote around on his back and too  _ heavy _ when completely filled. But that morning he fills it in a hurry. He stuffs all of his clothes, a few cooking pots and things, a canteen and several boxes of tea. He even manages to tuck a few of his notebooks into the pockets before fastening it to his back. 

He packs everything he can’t bear to leave behind and doesn’t even hesitate when he lifts the back of his tent to ducks into the trees. He doesn’t look back, or contemplate. The decision seems the clearest of his life. As he jogs into the cover of foliage, Steven actually  _ smiles _ .

“Goodbye, Father.” He whispers -- to himself more than anyone. 

Because, if given the choice, Steven chooses Billy. 

And that feels a lot like  _ freedom _ .

  
  


He waits until he’s far enough from the camp to cup his hands to his face and call into the trees. At least, he hopes he’s far enough that no search party would track him by his voice.

Because that would be a bitter end to his newfound emancipation. 

Steven calls moderately at first, only a little louder than speaking volume, then slowly crescendos to a full shout as he walks further and further into the jungle. The life around him quiets as he passes and he knows all eyes are on him. 

He is an intruder, not a peer. Not like when he’d explored these same areas with Billy at his side. 

Billy, who can speak to gorillas and pluck birds from thin air to pet their feathers. 

It occurs to Steven after an hour or so, that Billy is a part of the wildlife around him. He wouldn’t reveal himself when called, just like a beautiful macaw doesn’t fly into an open hand without the knowledge that it’s safe. 

So Steven stops in a small clearing, sets his bag down on the forest floor to breathe, wipes away the sweat on his brow, and sits. 

He sits and runs his fingers through his hair and listens to distant birds calling to each other. 

“In my world, romantic love between men is not accepted.” He says outloud, to the trees. To the canopy. To Billy, he hopes. But nothing responds. Nothing moves. “It’s labeled as a deviancy, a fault, and people are imprisoned. Executed or murdered.” Steven shudders, wondering if Billy even comprehends what he’s saying to him. Billy doesn’t know the cruelty of the world like Steven does. He hasn’t seen the newspapers and heard the chatter. “Men hide who they are because the world doesn’t accept them.”

The trees groan as a breeze moves from above, but Steven feels nothing but the heat as he swats away an insect and sighs. 

“My father told me that if I continued to behave inappropriately with you, he would leave you here.” His voice chokes slightly and he sniffs. “I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing you again. Of leaving you. I wanted you to come with us to England.” 

A bird shrieks from the sky and Steven stares up with hope in his heart, wishing with all his might Billy will be hanging from a branch, waiting on his every word. But he only sees shivering leaves. 

“I needed you to come to England. So I lied.” He says to the sky. “I hurt you to keep you and I never imagined you wouldn’t come back.” His eyes blur as tears flood the corners and he lets them fall. Lets them drop onto his shirt and darken the fabric. “I need you, Billy.” He says, his voice cracking. “So I’m staying.”

The silence stretches on and on and Steven cries harder, wondering if all his words are for nothing. If there’s no one listening except the trees. “I’m sorry.” He calls out. When nothing moves, when nothing answers, he ducks his head and sobs. “I love you.” 

The words strike him to his core as he whispers them aloud. He’s only ever said such words once in his life, and they were only partially true. Nancy was always easy to love, her kindness and bold nature were admirable and endearing. But he didn’t  _ hurt _ like this when he left her. He didn’t  _ pine _ for her while she was absent. 

A week without Billy has left Steven hopeless, desperate for just a look at his face. Just an acknowledgement that he  _ lives _ . That he wasn’t a figment of imagination, created to torment. 

He wants to shout the declaration for Billy to hear, when suddenly he feels the air go still. 

The silence is different from before, when life seemed to ignore Steven’s presence as he moved by. This stillness feels like a warning and the hair on the back of his neck rises. 

Instinct, he realizes. His nature is telling him  _ danger _ , and the animals all sense it too. 

Eyes darting around the clearing, he searches for a source. Any sign of a predator. He thinks of the contents of his pack, wonders where he’d tucked his pocket knife. In the side pocket? In the front? His hands shake as he reaches into the side and prays for his fingers to find the cold, familiar shape of his blade. 

Instead he finds his compass and his heart plummets. 

A branch cracks overhead and Steven looks up, seeing nothing in the trees. 

It’s only a quick look, but it’s enough. 

Movement pulls his eyes back to the clearing as a golden jaguar leaps across the space in a lightning-fast sprint and Steven barely has time to process what he sees before he’s throwing himself sideways to avoid a lunge. The animal misses him by a moment but rebounds off a tree as Steven scrambles in the dirt. 

He was never a fighter. He was barely considered athletic, but his body is in full survival mode as he claws at the jungle floor to find his feet. 

Holding his ground, he balls his hands into fists and readies like a boxer, like his father always wanted him to be -- someone fearless and tough. 

If he were a coward, he would be running. Planting his feet, Steven decides that maybe he isn’t nearly as weak as his father made him feel. 

Facing down a jaguar seems like something even his father would consider a brave death. 

As the mighty animal charges, Steven considers all these things in the blink of an eye, ready to die as the distance closes. 

He braces himself, says a small prayer, and then waits. 

And watches as a blur races into the clearing, just as the jaguar closes in. One moment, the predator is focused on Steven, teeth bared and  _ shining _ , and the next it’s on its back, fighting for dominance as arms wrap around its thick neck. 

“RUN!” Billy screams at Steven, his face red with exertion as he holds the animal down, dodging claws and teeth as it lashes and  _ hisses _ in fury. 

“Billy—“ Steven chokes, but his lover lets out a cry of pain as the jaguar wiggles free, slashing at him with sharp claws. 

Steven’s heart drops as blood streaks red across Billy’s chest and he moves towards the animal instead of away, his pulse  _ loud _ in his ears. 

With a wild scream, he lashes at the beast with a foot and it falls with a grunt, leaving Billy to leap onto his feet. 

“I said GO!” Billy yells at him, fear and fury etched on his beautiful face as blood runs down his skin. He pins the animal again, his arms flexing taunt against the creature’s neck and legs around its middle as it  _ fights _ . 

“No! I’m not leaving you!” Steven answers. Plucking a dead branch from the ground, he holds it like a club in his hand, prepared to fight. “I’m never leaving you again.” He vows, swinging the branch to connect with the animal’s side.

The hisses of fury turn to a mewl of pain and Steven lifts the club again. 

“Wait.” Billy grunts. 

Suddenly he’s snarling into the creature’s ear, contorting his voice into sounds. The jaguar stills and Steven watches with wide eyes as Billy continues to speak to it. For a few moments, man and jaguar are still. 

When Billy releases it, Steven springs back and prepares for an attack. Instead, the animal scrambles to its feet and Billy does the same, planting himself squarely in front of Steven. 

The jaguar snarls and Billy repeats the sound, the angry growl rattling from his chest, and then the cat slinks away. Back into the cover of bushes and trees. 

“What in the—“ Steven breathes, but before he can  _ express _ a single thought, Billy whirls and grabs him by the front of his shirt. 

“When I say to run, you RUN.” He snarls. 

“Billy—“

“When I say RUN, you RUN.” Billy repeats, louder, angrier, so Steven nods. Swallows back his terror. 

“Okay.” 

“Do you understand?” Billy asks, his voice laced with venom as he uses the words Steven so often used in their lessons.  _ Do you understand, Billy? _

“I understand.” Steven answers softly. “I’m sorry.”

Billy pants in his face, his breath short and hard and cheeks red with adrenaline. But Steven stares in awe. In  _ relief _ . His chest goes  _ tight _ from missing Billy and he fights back the urge to cup his jaw in both hands and kiss him breathless. 

“What did you say to it?” He asks instead, stumbling back when Billy releases him. His lover looks down at his chest, hisses at the bleeding wounds and all blood smeared over his skin. Steven springs to action, going for his bag and the kit he managed to stuff in among his clothes. 

As he pulls it from his pack, Billy watches and flexes his hands. 

“I don’t speak jaguar.” He finally mutters, bitter. Steven dabs a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a cloth, stands to inspect Billy’s wounds. 

“You said  _ something _ .” He counters as he wipes at the slashes in Billy’s skin. His lover winces but doesn’t make a sound, his fists clenched tight at his sides.

“He wanted to eat. You wanted to kill him.” Billy grumbles, like it’s simply that easy to understand. “I am stronger. I could have let you.” 

Steven’s face heats as he continues to clean away rusty smears, remove fur from inside Billy’s wounds. 

“But you let him go?” 

“He was hungry. He will live to find another meal.” Billy states quietly. Steven looks up into his eyes, sees the  _ empathy _ in them. 

“You’re a better man than me.” He says. When Billy says nothing, Steven looks back at his work, wonders what he could say to fix what he’d broken between them. “Thank you for saving me.” 

“Why are you here?” Billy counters as Steven unravels a piece of gauze and tapes it to his chest. His fingertips linger on Billy’s skin and he fights the desire to kiss each inch. 

“I needed to find you.” Putting away his supplies, Steven watches as Billy touches the bandage. 

“You told me to leave.” He mutters, his eyes still hidden from Steven’s view. 

“I didn’t mean forever.” Steven answers gently. “But when the ship arrived and you still hadn’t returned—“ 

“You want me to go to England, so you come to find me.” Billy cuts him off with a challenging stare, but Steven sees the anger. The pain.

“ _ Came _ to find you.” Steven corrects and Billy huffs in irritation. “Yes, I  _ wanted _ you to go to England, but that’s not why I came to find you.” 

“Then why?” Billy asks quietly.

“Because I’m going to stay. Here. With you.” Steven steps closer, sees the vulnerability shining in Billy’s gaze. 

“But you said—“

“I was wrong. I’m sorry I said what I said. It was cruel of me and I’m so sorry.” 

“Then why?” Billy asks. Like a child, he blinks at him, asking for more. More truth than Steven was ever hoping he’d have to admit aloud. 

“Because I was a coward. And a fool.” He says, choking on his shame. “Father threatened to leave you here and I would have never seen you again.” Steven swallows back the deep swell of sadness just  _ speaking _ the words brings. “I couldn’t bear the thought, so... I was curt and mean but…” His voice trails off and he bites back crying  _ again _ , staring at the ground. “You didn’t come back. I never imagined you’d leave me for good.” 

Billy is silent for only a moment, long enough that Steven wonders if he’s  _ heard _ him. 

And then his lover is in his space, closing up the gaps, hands on his face. His expression is still hard, but there’s nothing but tenderness in his eyes. 

“I would never leave you.” He says, solemn and  _ low _ . Like a growl. A promise. “You are my  _ family _ .” 

Steven lets the wheeze of a sob leak from his chest, grasping onto Billy’s wrists, leaning into his touch. 

“And you are mine.” 

Billy blinks, then a twitch of a smirk flickers across his face. Just a moment. 

“Good.” He proclaims before pressing a chaste kiss to Steven’s lips. It’s more than he deserves and yet so much less than he  _ needs _ . “You will stay.” Billy adds. 

Steven can’t help but nod, Billy’s hands on his jaw, cupping his face.

“And we will be intimate.” Billy pronounces, without shame. Without any fear of judgment. And Steven laughs. 

“I imagine so, yes. We’ll have an awful lot of privacy now—”

“And we will be in love.” Billy declares, cutting him off. “Like the dancers.” 

The dancers; Steven had nearly forgotten the photograph. The one where a man beams at his partner, twirling her around in his arms. The first concept of love that Billy ever understood. 

Steven can’t help but touch Billy’s face, so  _ proud _ of him. 

“Yes.” He whispers. “Just like the dancers.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on the tumbles [@hoppnhorn](https://hoppnhorn.tumblr.com) and the tweeters [@hoppnhorn](https://twitter.com/hoppnhorn)


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